'Sure I will, boy': How Christy Ring gave a 10-year-old a perfect Munster final memory
Outside Savoy after Christy Ring premiere: Christy signs autographs, Louis Marcus on left. Picture: Courtesy of Louis Marcus
'Would you like to come to Thurles on Sunday'?
'Yes', said my father, 'There's room in the car'.
'Yippee', I shouted, as I raced into the house to tell my siblings that I would be going to my first ever Tipperary versus Cork championship game.
My father and I had been working in the garden. He was digging the first of that year's crop of new potatoes. As he dug them, I lifted them and placed them in a bucket. With my sudden departure, my father carried the bucket to the kitchen so we could all enjoy a dinner of colcannon.
I had three older brothers. All were veterans of Munster Championship games. Because of my age, and the lack of space in the car I had not yet attended a championship game. We did not own a car but my father got a lift to all games in my uncle's car. Usually, there was space for two or three young lads but up to now, there had not been room for a fourth.
The day of a championship game for me had consisted of seeing off the car in the morning; listening to Micheál O hEithir's commentary in the afternoon and then waiting eagerly for the eyewitness accounts when the car arrived home in the evening.
Now my turn had come. I felt like a player who has been picked on the team for the first time. I had celebrated my 10th birthday the week previously and, as my father explained, this would be my birthday present.
The Sunday match-day ritual in our house never varied. I joined my father and brothers and attended nine o'clock Mass and returned home for a hearty breakfast that my mother had prepared. My father perused the Sunday paper and called out the latest opinions on the game. Many comments focused on Cork’s legendary forward Christy Ring. He was the only man in the history of the game who had won eight All-Ireland medals.
Many believed he was the best hurler of all time. I had seen many of Tipp’s stars of the 50s in action in local club games but Christy Ring was a mystical figure to me whom I only saw photographed in the newspapers.
We gathered our coats and our precious autograph books and waited patiently for our uncle's arrival.
We arrived in Liberty Square in Thurles around mid-day. My father, who had a backroom role to play with the Tipp team, deposited us there and my three brothers and I headed out to Thurles Sportsfield. A steady trickle of people walked up over the Railway Bridge but the huge throngs of supporters would not arrive till later. I recall hearing the musicians playing their tunes on the side of the street and the hawkers selling their wares from street-side stalls with shouts of 'Apples, oranges, cigarettes or chocolate' and 'Get your colours for the game'.
My experienced brothers wore their blue and gold paper hats from previous encounters. It being my maiden Munster final, I parted with three-pence and acquired a sparkling new Tipperary hat which I donned with great pride.
We were ushered through the turnstiles and selected sideline seats which would afford us the best view of the game. Our great view was soon obscured by the arrival of huge throngs of supporters of both Tipperary and Cork. I did not know many of the players in the Minor game but I cheered every score as Tipp, the reigning All-Ireland champions, raced to another title.
The relaxed mood of the spectators gradually changed as we approached the serious business of the day. The teams burst onto the field and for the first time, I saw live in action the hurling giants in blue and gold and red and white. It took me quite a while to get used to the thunderous cheers and shouts of over 60,000 fans as they roared on their heroes even though the game had not yet begun.
Following , the referee threw in the sliotar and the game began. At some stage in the second half with scores almost even it was clear that exchanges on the pitch were becoming heated. There were some fair and not very fair clashes between rival players. If events on the pitch were heated, they boiled over amongst the supporters. 'Go on Doyle, you're nothing but a langer', shouted a huge Cork fan to my left. 'Ring, you're a right blackguard', replied a Tipp fan behind me.Â
Christy Ring was being held scoreless by Tipp’s new corner-back Matt Hassett and John Doyle was having a hectic battle with Cork’s Paddy Barry in the other corner. Backs and forwards strove to gain the upper hand by legal or illegal means. The roars of spectators reached a crescendo each time the sliotar came near the Tipp goalmouth.
At one deafening stage, I gathered from comments around me that the referee had stopped play as blows and fists were being exchanged by several players from both sides. When play continued Tipp maintained the upper hand and held out for a narrow win.
With the thousands of Tipp fans, I roared and cheered as the Cork supporters headed disconsolately for the exits. Near the dressing rooms, we managed to ambush a number of players who signed our autograph books until we headed back to Liberty Square.
We gathered, from the comments of those around us, that Christy Ring was not a happy man as he departed the pitch after the final whistle. He had lost the game and had been held scoreless and so felt he had let Cork down.
Sadly, I can recall quite a number of so-called Tipp supporters booing and jeering the great man as he departed the pitch. We also heard the exultant Tipp fans announce that we would now have no problem winning the All-Ireland Final in September. We strode on and took our places beside my uncle's car at the end of the Square. We knew we would have a long wait before my father and uncle arrived back.
By 6.30 the Square was almost deserted. We could hear loud voices coming from the public houses when I noticed my brothers’ attention was focused on two pedestrians heading down the Square. One was tall and the other small and sturdy. At first, they were unsure but then they were certain that the smaller of the two with his bald head was Christy Ring. I gazed in awe as the legend of the game was coming so close to us. We identified the other player as the lean figure of Cork's half-forward, Terry Kelly. They came towards us but then did an about-turn and headed back down the Street.
When we got over the shock of seeing the two we realised that they were having a stroll by doing laps of the Square. This was a great chance to get the autograph of the legend Christy Ring. However, my brothers hesitated to approach him with so many stories of him being in an angry mood. The two oldest asked the third to approach Christy but in his wisdom, he declined. I was now the focus of their undivided attention. They praised me and bribed me. And to their great surprise and joy as the two hurlers approached one more time I took the offered pen and headed over to the two.
"Will you sign my autograph book, please Christy"? I asked as I held out my book.
"Sure, I will boy," replied Christy and took my pen and book. Then he passed the book on to Terry Kelly. By now my three brave brothers, having seen the friendly reception I received, arrived on my heels and all autograph books were duly signed by both men. Christy then wished us the best of luck in the All-Ireland final and resumed his walk with Terry.
Travelling home in the car, I was delighted to have witnessed Tipp winning the Munster Final but even more so I felt a warm glow as I had played a star role in Liberty Square that evening.
Now, over 50 years later, I sit at my laptop and positioned beside this modern device is my autograph book from the 1960s. Legendary names look out at me as I turn over its pages — Pat Stakelum, Jimmy Doyle, Sean Purcell, Tony Wall, Mick Mackey, Micheal O hEithir, Eddie Keher, Billy Rackard and many more. Near the centre, on a green page two names are entered. I gaze at the beautiful cursive signature of the legend Christy Ring and beneath it Terry Kelly.
I am moved as I recall that Munster Final day in Liberty Square in Thurles in 1960. The greatest hurler of them all showed his greatness continued when he left the field.
Despite the disappointment and heartbreak of losing, the shameless jeers of some of those present, he took time to turn to a blue and gold-clad 10-year-old Tipperary supporter and make that day one of my greatest hurling memories.
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